All Chapters of MOON MARKED BY THE LYCAN KING: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

SKYE'S POV The festival should have ended at midnight. That had been Kael’s official decree, delivered with the solemnity of a military order and accompanied by a four-page schedule detailing lantern extinguishing procedures, noise reduction protocols, and the acceptable rate of post-celebration dispersal. Naturally, the miners ignored it. By the time the moon climbed high above the valley, the dance competition had evolved into a full-scale cultural event involving southern merchants, northern blacksmiths, three bards, two shepherds, and—somehow—Marta serving as the official judge. I stood beside Eryx near the fountain, laughing so hard my stomach hurt as a bearded miner attempted a spinning step that nearly sent him into a table of honey cakes. “He’s going to break his ankle,” I whispered. “He’s going to break Kael first,” Eryx murmured back. As if summoned by fate, Kael appeared through the crowd, flower crown still firmly in place, carrying a clipboard. A clipbo

SKYE’S POV The Great Hall had never felt so full. Governors, guild masters, elders, merchants, and military commanders filled the long rows of seats beneath the vaulted stone ceiling. Rain-washed light streamed through the high windows, catching on silver goblets, polished boots, and the countless rings that flashed whenever someone gestured. The Coronation Council was officially in session. And every eye in the room seemed to find me. I kept my shoulders straight as Eryx and I took our places on the dais. The old throne of Nighthaven loomed behind us, carved from black mountain stone and worn smooth by generations of rulers. For the first time, I did not feel intimidated by it. I felt aware of it. Aware of the history pressing against my back, of the lives shaped by the decisions made from that seat, and of the future waiting beyond this room. Kael stepped forward, flower crown finally gone, though I suspected he had removed it with genuine regret. “The first mat

SKYE’S POV The morning after we opened the royal vault, I woke before dawn. For a few quiet seconds I didn’t remember why my heart felt unusually heavy. Then I saw the faint amber glow from the ring on my finger and remembered the crown resting beneath the mountain. Twelve days. The number seemed to follow me everywhere now. Beside me, Eryx slept on his back, one arm thrown across the blankets, dark hair falling across his forehead. In sleep he looked younger, the harsh edges of the Wolf King softened into something almost boyish. I studied him for a moment, feeling a tenderness so deep it ached. We had survived war, betrayal, ancient magic, and the collapse of an empire. And somehow, this—peace, responsibility, and the terrifying possibility of a long future together—felt like the most vulnerable thing of all. I slipped from the bed quietly and crossed to the window. Nighthaven was still wrapped in blue-gray dawn. Mist clung to the lower valley, and the river b

SKYE’S POV Ten days remained until the coronation. The snowfall that had seemed so delicate the previous evening had transformed the valley overnight. When I stepped onto the southern battlement at dawn, Nighthaven lay beneath a flawless blanket of white. Pine branches bowed under the weight of fresh snow, the river smoked in the freezing air, and every rooftop gleamed pale silver beneath the rising sun. The kingdom looked reborn. For a long moment, I simply stood there breathing in the cold. Then someone behind me sneezed violently. I turned. Eryx stood in the doorway wrapped in a dark fur cloak, glaring at the snow as though it had personally insulted his ancestors. “Tell me that isn’t snow.” “It’s snow.” “We had one week of clear weather.” “You’re speaking as though the sky personally betrayed you.” “It did.” I laughed softly. He crossed the battlement and immediately pulled me into his arms, tucking the edge of his cloak around both of us. “Better,” he declared. T

SKYE’S POV Eight days remained until the coronation. Nighthaven woke to music. Not the solemn horns of arriving delegations or the measured bells of council sessions, but the bright, lively sound of fiddles echoing through the lower courtyards before sunrise. I opened my eyes to laughter drifting up from the village below, followed by the unmistakable rhythm of boots striking frozen stone. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. Then Eryx groaned beside me. “The musicians have escaped containment.” I laughed softly into the blankets. “That sounds serious.” “It is. Give them an hour and they’ll have recruited half the fortress.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. When we descended to breakfast, we found three kitchen servants humming the same tune, two guards tapping their fingers against their cups, and Kael standing in the doorway with the expression of a man witnessing the collapse of civilization through excessive enthusiasm. “Good morning,” I said carefully. “It